Five Letter Word
by kalabangsilver
Summary: New Years Eve, spooks and scrabble... and maybe some Harry/Ruth too. A little fic about forgiveness and moving on. Post S9, S10 non-compliant.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N – Three-shot set some time after season 9. Not season 10 compliant. __All about New Years Eve, with spooks, scrabble and a little forgiveness for my favourite spooks couple. Harry/Ruth rated T. Hope you enjoy._

_Silver._

_._

_Five letter word_

.

It had been an odd New Years Eve, on the Grid. It was half past eleven and, as of yet, nobody had tried to blow up London.

With only skeleton staff on duty, Ruth had expected the worst to happen, at any minute. As the day dragged on, however, not a single bulletin popped up on their screens. The system had remained entirely devoid of assassination attempts, or bomb materials going missing, or persons of interest appearing in public places. The threat level had remained low. The nation's terrorists, it seemed, were taking the year off.

As the evening drew in and it became obvious that no imminent danger was happening, Harry had sent most of the staff home, under strenuous warning to remain sober, as they were still officially 'on-call'. A few tasks had remained open, of course, so team members without family volunteered to stay behind. Ruth was first to sign up. She could not remember a year when there had not been a high priority threat on New Year's Eve. Being on the Grid as the bells went off was as much a tradition, to her, as a glass of Champagne.

Almost all of Erin's team stayed behind, for pretty much the same reason. Dimitri's parents were away on holiday, Tariq's girlfriend was working and Calum, like Ruth, had no family to speak of. Erin was the only one who had headed home. She had little Rosie, of course.

Ruth sighed, feeling a rush of envy towards the younger officer. Erin would be at home with her mum and her daughter, curled up on the sofa. As much as Ruth liked to pretend that family holiday scenes were not her cup of tea, she sometimes longed for that closeness. Ruth knew it was partly her fault, that she was so isolated. The job was one thing – the long working hours were ridiculous – but it had been her choice not to get back in contact with her family, when she had returned from being officially deceased. At the time, it had seemed logical. The explanations and lies had not seemed worth the hassle, especially when Ruth partly expected she would die properly, in the future. Now, she was not sure she had made the right choice.

A sigh escaped her throat. She was becoming maudlin, with the lateness of the hour.

Sitting on her left hand side, Tariq caught her eye and motioned towards the board game on front of them. Dimitri and Calum, sitting on Ruth's other side and directly across from her, were watching her too; all waiting for her to take her turn. Ruth sighed. She had never been much good at Scrabble – more to do with terrible luck than her vocabulary – and New Years' Eve Scrabble wasn't shaping up to be much better. She was already lagging behind by thirty points.

"Going to make a move?" Tariq asked.

"If I must."

She placed an 'ed' on the end of a word, earning enough points to elicit a groan from Tariq, who was losing even more drastically than she was.

"This isn't fair." The young technical officer grumbled. "This whole idea was mine and now I'm losing..."

With the complete dearth of threats to deal with, the spooks' evening had been spent finishing off mountains of post-op paper work. Dimitri, always the first to tire of report-writing, had disappeared through to the storage unit and begun rooting through Malcolm's old boys' toys. At the bottom of the pile, he came across a box marked (in typically Malcolm fashion) 'retrofitted spy-ware'. Inside were some bugged board games, made during Ruth's early days at MI5, for a sting operation.

Ruth had smiled when Dimitri brought out the 'Scrabble' box. She remembered laughing about it with Zoe and Danny, on a late night not so unlike this one. In a fit of nostalgia, she had told the new team the story; of how the operation had gone terribly wrong and all the bugged 's' letters picked up on was a recording of foreign dignitaries 'getting it on' in the meeting room. They chuckled, all imagining Harry's face as he listened to the recording.

It had been Tariq who had suggested playing a game. At first, the rest of the team had been hesitant, but he had asked with such uncharacteristic enthusiasm that nobody really had had the heart to say no. So here they were, nearly half an hour later, in the midst of what was becoming the most laboured-over game of Scrabble in Scrabble history.

And, somehow, it was Ruth's turn again.

She frowned down at the board. On her right, Dimitri leant back in his chair, arms folded across his chest; clearly smug after fitting 'ensconce' onto the board for upwards of eighty points. Tariq continued to gripe on her left and blame his low scores on bad letters. Calum drummed his fingers excitedly against the desk, beckoning Ruth to make her move.

"Come on, Evershed, thrill us with your wordplay."

"I'm doing my best." she grumbled in reply.

Ruth scanned her letters. They were a rum lot, really, mostly vowels. She got the feeling that the rest of the team were expecting her to win the game, what with her background in classics and her mental collection of completely useless trivia. They would be sorely disappointed. Ruth toyed with her letters, sizing up her options. At the moment, she could either place them down to form a slightly rude word, or one which would only earn her single-digit points. Deciding that her self-respect was probably more important than winning – and knowing that she would probably never catch up with Dimitri's score anyway – she put down 'eon'.

Dimitri looked disappointed. Clearly he had been spoiling for a race to first place.

"I suppose that will have to do," he sighed, writing down her meagre score of nine.

The game continued, sliding slowly from the seriousness, with which it had all started, into the general mirth that happened whenever Tariq and Calum got together, socially. As the pair argued over the validity of urban slang as legitimate words, and Dimitri and Ruth laughed along, the pod doors swished loudly behind them. Everybody turned to look, as Harry walked back onto the Grid.

Conversation faltered. Ruth glanced over at her colleague's faces. They were frozen in a unilateral expression of unease. The reason, she suspected, was that nobody really knew whether or not Harry would approve of their little New Years' celebration. Ruth, who knew that Harry liked to relax with a Scotch, while doing his paperwork, hardly suspected he would fire them on the spot. Then again, she had been wrong about Harry before. Scrabble might be his deepest hatred. Idle officers on New Years' Eve might enrage him beyond all mortal limits.

Ruth watched his face carefully as he entered, but picked up only the briefest hint of surprise, before impassivity slid back into place. Harry nodded to them all.

"Good evening, everyone."

A chorus of 'Hello Harry's and 'Hello Sir's came in reply.

"I trust nothing too sinister has happened, during my absence?"

Ruth considered making a joke about how Tariq had made tea, but held herself back. Conversation with Harry made her feel anxious. The two of them had not properly spoken in weeks. Things were not right between them, not since the Albany fiasco.

To her great relief, Dimitri spoke up, to fill the silence.

"Nothing sinister at all, sir." he swivelled around in his chair, to face Harry. "Erin and the others left a couple of hours ago. It's been as quiet as a churchyard."

Harry pulled off his gloves, slowly, scanning across their faces.

"Right, well enjoy your game," he glanced down at the board, "but remember that paperwork better be finished the next time I see you all."

_Yes, Sir_, they chorused – _yes, Harry_.

"I expect very full, very detailed reports on my desk by noon on the Second." He warned them and then added, as an afterthought. "Or I'm sending Ruth back to GCHQ."

His remark was greeted by a few chuckles and one or two glances over at Ruth, just to reaffirm that it was a joke.

Ruth rolled her eyes, but felt a curious mix of emotion well up within her. It was the first time he had initiated any form of social contact, since the day he had been suspended. This was primarily due to the fact that Ruth had been ignoring him.

When she had first returned to the team, after Cyprus, Ruth had thought there could be no future possible, between her and Harry. She had retreated into herself and pushed her boss as far away as she could reach. It had been only very gradually that things had changed, between them; a process taking place over months, rather than weeks. A few touches, a few glances held when nobody was looking, had slowly changed her mind. In fact, Ruth had almost convinced herself to give them another chance. Then, Ros's death and the proposal had happened. And after that, when they were only starting to recover some semblance of normality, Albany. Their situation had been highlighted, neon bright, in Ruth's mind. People like them had no future. What was the point in tasting love only to have it snatched away?

After Albany and Harry's suspension, Ruth had withdrawn completely. She had not answered any of his calls or emails. She had made only a perfunctory appearance at his tribunal. Harry had been saved due to his involvement in some business with the Russians, another peace-making deal, which came to nothing. One more double-agent captured, one more conspiracy overturned, Ruth and Harry had found themselves back on the Grid; back in the same position they had been before but with the added complication of knowing what had gone on, between Harry and Elena Gavrik. An asset, turned lover, turned double-agent betrayer.

Ruth set her jaw. More lies. More reasons for her to be angry with him.

Anger was the primary emotion running through Ruth, for the past few weeks. Rich, textured, multi-layered anger. She was angry at everything. She was angry that Harry never told her anything about his past. She was angry that he had put her above National Security and then tried to excuse his actions with love. She was angry that he had proposed to her at a friend's funeral, when she was emotional and vulnerable. She was angry that he done it before saying what he wanted to say, all years ago, on that sad, cold pier. She was angry because he had no timing or tact, and because he was as emotionally forthright as a stone, and for numerous other reasons. And...

...she was angry with herself, because she had already forgiven him, for all of it.

Ruth took a slow breath and tore her eyes away from Harry, to look around herself.

Barely five seconds had passed, since she had drifted off into her thoughts, but those five seconds had left her exhausted. The anger made her head throb and her muscles ache. Shoulders dropping back against her computer chair, Ruth folded her arms across her belly, comfortingly. She was too tired to think about the anger any more. Besides which, she did not want to. Her resolve had been fading, over the past couple of days. Not talking to Harry was awful. The two of them had been moping around each others' vicinity for weeks, neither plucking up the courage to either apologise or argue. She ated it. The warmth she had felt, when he joked to her, had reminded her of everything they used to be. Ruth wanted that feeling back.

Next to her, Tariq leant forwards, breaking her train of thought.

"Come join us, Harry," he called over, to his boss. "New Years Eve Scrabble, winner gets the last chocolate biscuit. There's only half an hour of 2010 left. You don't really want to spend it making calls and chasing paperwork, do you?"

Everyone looked to the boss.

"I don't know, I should really..." Harry dithered, glancing over at his office and the foot-high pile of files sitting on his desk.

"Come on, Harry." Tariq threw him a trademark cheeky grin. "Festive spirit, team bonding and all of that!"

"Just half an hour, Harry." Dimitri joined in.

"Haven't you already been playing a while?" Harry asked, glancing down at the board, full of letters.

Despite his hesitance, Ruth expected that Harry did want to join them. He may spend most of his working life behind a thick pane of glass, holed up inside his office, but she knew that Harry was never happier than when he was with his team. She never saw him more in his element than when he was on Grid floor – except, perhaps, when he was there to greet all of his officers, returning safe after an operation. Ruth knew that Harry cared for them. He would lay down his life for them. Yet, he did not seem capable of showing that, in any meaningful way.

She suspected it was probably this same incapability which had kept her and Harry apart, all these years.

"You can join Tariq or Ruth and make a team." Dimitri suggested.

"Yeah, they're rubbish." Calum seconded.

"Lies." Ruth commented, lightly,

Harry's eyes swept slowly across the team and onto her. His expression was veiled, but at least he was not looking at her with that sullen resentment he had been harbouring last week. Though he was doing his best to look as composed as ever, Ruth could tell that he was as tired as she was.

She sighed. The time had come to make amends. She hated feeling angry, hated working in a silent cold. Something about tonight felt hopeful. It was New Years' Eve, after all, a time for renewal and second chances. Perhaps, tonight, she could take a step towards him, instead of away. Maybe, she could start to fix things – mend the burnt bridge, or whatever the metaphor was. She might be ready to try that. She certainly did not want to keep walking along this path they were on.

"Come on, Harry," Tariq wheedled again.

"Well, I suppose the paperwork could wait."

Still, Harry hovered near the pods. He looked like he was hanging back out of courtesy, unsure, perhaps, if Ruth would be okay with him joining in.

Ruth felt the urge to reassure him that she was.

"You can join my team." She told him softly.

The words came out a little _too_ softly. There was a pause, where Ruth could have overcompensated and added something else, in a louder tone – a joke, perhaps, to make light of the moment – but she didn't. Tariq shifted uncomfortably. Dimitri's stare became politely focussed on his hands. Calum seemed to be the only one who did not sense the delicacy of the moment. He just looked between Ruth and her boss and gave them both a wide smile, before pronouncing;

"There you go, Harry, you've got a team mate. The pair of you should be able to take on Dimitri's preposterous lead."

The tension was sharply broken. The team laughed, together. Dimitri scoffed and muttered something to the effect of 'not likely'. Tariq threw some derogatory comment to Calum and Ruth felt a flutter of nerves rush through her, as Harry nodded his head at the lot of them.

"Well, I suppose I could spare a few minutes." Pulling off his outer coat, he made his way across the Grid and drew up a spare computer chair, on Ruth's right-hand side. Laying his coat over the back, he sat down and asked, into the space between her shoulder and her ear; "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

The intimacy of the moment gave Ruth more of a thrill than she cared to admit – and rather more than she expected, after the animosity that had been brewing between them, over the last few weeks.

"Probably, yes." She blustered out a reply.

Gathered around the table, sharing the same letters, Ruth and Harry were seated rather closer than they usually allowed themselves to be. Ruth felt her skin prickle, body tensing in response to his slightest movements. As Harry shifted in his seat, the back of their hands brushed, causing Ruth to swallow, hard. Show some control, she berated herself, surreptitiously pinching the skin on her inner arm. She had decided that she should start talking to him again, not jump into bed together! Another brush of his arm, however, threatened to banish all logical thought.

Ruth barely managed to disguise her sigh of longing inside one of boredom. It had been such a long time since they last touched. She missed that particular game of theirs; leaning over one another to get a pen, letting their fingers touch for a bit longer than they needed to, as they handed over a file. She missed the contact. It was a stupid thing to say, she supposed, after having pushed him away like she did, but true nonetheless. Ruth sighed. She could have had more than this – they could have been more than this. Harry had offered her that. He had offered her all of himself, quite unreservedly. It was only her cowardice and childish anger which had left her seeking contact in the brush of the back of their hands.

"Shall we?" asked Dimitri.

"Yes, of course." Ruth cleared her throat, looking back down at her collection of vowels and her single consonant.

She could feel, very acutely, Harry's gaze on the side of her cheek. It felt like her skin was on fire, as if he was physically touching her. This was ridiculous, she thought. She should be plugging through MI5 databases, in search of rogue terrorists. That was her New Years' tradition – not playing Scrabble with bloody Harry Pearce. A little bit of her reared up in reflexive anger, but the feeling died away as his skin brushed against hers again. Ruth glanced down, just in time to see Harry's fingers move away from her wrist.

"What?" She asked, looking back up at him. Her voice was only a little breathless.

"You can use those four, under the 'G' on dragon." He pointed at their letters, looking a tad pleased with himself. "Triple letter score."

The pleasure in his eyes was enough to warm her. Despite not entirely meaning to, Ruth smiled.

"I've got a better one, but thank you."

"Going to share?"

"I might." She joked, sounding far more nonchalant than she felt.

"Teammates, Ruth." He reminded her.

"Not sure I trust you not to sabotage the game, so that we'll all get back to our paperwork."

Harry smiled, the first honest smile he had given her in a long time.

"No sabotage." He told her.

"You promise?"

"Promise."

His eyes flashed.

Her heart skipped a little.

Tariq cleared his throat. The pair startled and looked around. All three of the younger men were watching them.

"Come on, Ruth and Harry." Calum said, brightly. "We haven't got all night."

Hurriedly returning her attention to her letters, Ruth picked up four and placed them on the board, spelling out the word 'naive'.

The game continued. Her score was noted down and conversation sprung up again, between the boys. Ruth picked up more letters. Dimitri put down something brilliant, winning him thirty points. Calum put down something really quite rude, winning him twenty three. Tariq sat for almost a whole two minutes, trying to figure out something that did not look like Czech. Ruth watched them all with a fixed smile, aware of Harry's eyes resting on her face the entire time. His gaze had not left her since she had placed her word on the board.

Okay, so it was a spot of blatant flirting, spelling out 'naive' – especially when his word would have got them more points – but it was New Years' Eve. Wasn't a spot of flirting, between two old friends (or ex-friends, almost-lovers, friends-again, or whatever they were) allowed? She had decided that they should try and reconnect, that she should try to build a bridge over the gaping chasm between them. What better way than to remind him of the good times? The simpler times, when she was naive and he was a little braver.

Ruth glanced over at her boss, meeting his eye for a split second. His expression was guarded. Even if his heart wanted to believe her intent, his mind was clearly telling him not to get his hopes up. It would be logical not to, Ruth reasoned. None of their previous flirtations had amounted to anything serious. Why should Harry believe her playfulness now, after her weeks of cold, towards him? She felt a twinge of guilt for confusing him like this. Maybe they could talk later, and she could explain.

"Ruth?"

"Yes?" she turned quickly back to him.

Reaching slowly over her, he rearranged the letters on their small wooden bench. His forearm was pressed softly against hers as he reached. Ruth did not move away, or forwards. She focussed all of her attention down on those letters, as if the adrenaline pumping through her would go away if she ignored it hard enough. It did not.

Harry pointed out the position his word would take, on the board.

"Good?"

"Very good." She conceded. "Seasoned player, are we?"

"Better than you. You should have taken my advice on the last round. We would have got double the points."

Ruth got the feeling she should have taken his advice weeks ago – years ago. She should have accepted that second date. She should have let him tell her that he loved her, on that pier. She should have said 'yes' when he asked her to forgive him, 'yes' when he asked her to marry him, 'thank you' for what he did, with Albany. She had wanted to. Why had she let insecurity and anger come between them? They were better than that. She was old enough to know better.

"I know." She told him, quietly.

To draw her mind away from the metaphorical implications of their game, Ruth scanned her eyes back across the board. Tariq was arguing with Calum over the validity of American spellings.

"It's an American game!" he insisted.

"So do we miss out random 'u's whenever we please, now?" Calum asked. "How would you spell colour, Tariq?"

"I'm just saying, we should be allowed to spell it either way."

"That is completely cheating!"

"No, it's completely fair."

Harry stepped in, separating his young employees, and calling a vote.

Tariq lost unanimously.

"Well, it was worth a shot." Dropping the 'z' from his word, the young technical officer entered the correct spelling and collected his smaller score. Reaching into the bag for more letters, he announced that there were none and the game was now, officially on its final legs. "It's a sprint to the finish." He told them eagerly.

Ruth chuckled.

Harry's body was relaxed beside her and their next word was nothing special. They were too old for sprinting and she was perfectly happy just to sit here, the back of her hand laid against his, on top of the table. They had ended up sitting that way so naturally that nobody had noticed – not that it mattered if they noticed, Ruth reminded herself, they all knew anyway. What was the harm, then, in allowing a little contact? It made her feel better. It made her feel warm. She was pretty sure it made him feel better too. Harry's shoulders had relaxed, the tension that had been present in him earlier all but vanished.

They remained touching for the rest of the game. It made Ruth a little sad to think it, but it was the longest they had ever gone, without breaking contact.

In the end, Dimitri won, as expected, by a matter of fifty points. Harry's help, on the last few turns, brought Ruth up to third place, but Calum beat her to second. Tariq lagged behind, in fourth, with an appalling score of eighty-two. As grand loser, he was assigned the task of packing away the game while Calum and Dimitri went off to fetch celebratory cups of tea. While the younger man slouched off next door, to return the game to Malcolm's storage boxes, Ruth and Harry found themselves alone, still sitting side-by-side. Still touching.

Reluctantly, Ruth pulled back, disguising the movement as a sudden urge to reorganise her desktop.

Harry remained where she had left him, watching her quietly.

"It's almost midnight." he commented, after a few moments had passed and Ruth had shuffled all the papers that she could shuffle.

Ruth looked back, overcome by shyness. When he said 'midnight', her mind had immediately flitted to 'midnight kiss'. She wondered if her thoughts could have possibly shown on her face. Part of her hoped that it did. She was so tired of acting cool towards him, so exhausted from all the anger. Tonight, Ruth thought she might sell her life down the drain, just to kiss Harry at midnight. He had soft lips. He felt so gentle, against her. They had touched only once, that way, but she could still remember every second of it. Most prominently, she could remember how alive he made her feel. Beautifully, poignantly alive.

How could she have been so angry that feeling _alive_ had faded into insignificance?

"How long?" she asked him. "Until midnight?"

"Ten minutes, or so."

"Shame we'll miss the fireworks." She said, quietly.

"We could go upstairs, to the roof." Harry suggested.

Ruth must have looked surprised, because he hastened to elaborate, his cheeks flushing slightly.

"To see the fireworks, I mean. You can see right across to where they hold the street party. I went up there to watch, a couple of years ago, with Ros." he fiddled with his hands, a nervous tic she had picked up on, over the years. "It was really quite beautiful."

Ruth kept her lips sealed for a minute, not trusting the next words that came out of her mouth not to be 'I love you, I'm sorry, kiss me?' Eventually, she managed a very controlled "that would be lovely."

"Good. I'll tell the boys to bring the tea up." Harry made to stand, but Ruth reached out, her hand staying him.

"Shouldn't someone stay on the Grid?" she asked softly, not quite believing what she was about to suggest.

Harry frowned.

"You're probably right. They can draw straws."

"I mean, could we not-," Ruth paused and swallowed.

Harry lifted an eyebrow.

"Could we not go alone," she forced herself to continue, "to watch the fireworks." Her breath was coming shallow and fast. Her pulse was sickeningly loud in her ears. "I know the boys wouldn't mind and I'd... I'd quite like the chance to talk," she paused, and then added, hastily, "if that's okay, with you."

Eyes not-quite hiding his surprise, Harry nodded.

"That's okay."

"Okay." She smiled, nervously.

"Right."

She stood.

He stood.

They faced on another, slightly awkwardly. Ruth cleared her throat and tried to think of sensible things to say, then remembered that the roof would be cold, at this time of year. She turned, reaching for her coat with one hand as she scrabbled around her desk, for ID card, with the other. By the time she turned back to face him, Harry had managed to get both his coat and gloves – truly a man of many talents.

"Shall we?" he asked.

Ruth nodded, her heart beating hard in her throat. This could be the worst mistake she had ever made, or it could be the best one. Either way, she was determined to make it. They could not go one as they had been living – ignoring each other, working in cold silence. She wanted the old Harry and Ruth back. She wanted to feel good again. Following him over towards the pod doors, she stood close as they went through and headed out, down the corridor, and up, towards the roof.

She was sick of feeling angry. She missed him. Tonight, she would make things right again.

...

As their backs disappeared from sight, Calum and Dimitri emerged from the kitchen, bearing cups of tea.

"Where on Earth?" Calum looked around, to Harry's office and Ruth's desk. Neither of the older spooks were in sight. "Well, it looks like we're not going to need four cups of tea, after all." He rolled his eyes. "Where do you think they've they run off to?"

"Don't know..." Dimitri's mouth twitched up, into a smile. "Don't know if I want to know."

Calum's eyebrows rose.

"Seriously? Ruth and Harry?"

Tariq's head popped out from around the corner of his station.

"They've gone up to the roof," he told Dimitri, before turning to Calum. "And don't say you don't know the Ruth and Harry story." He said, with incredulously. "There is no way you've not heard about them, they're Section D's worst-kept secret!"

"Well, I know about _Ruth_ and _Harry_," Calum said, rolling his eyes. "I mean, I know he traded some big-ass state secret for her life and got himself suspended for it. But I figured, as she's been glaring daggers at him since he got back, it must be some great, unrequited love story." His eyes lit up, as he glanced back towards the pods, through which the two senior officers had disappeared, and then turned back to Dimitri. "Are you telling me that Ruth and Harry is actually" he gave a suggestive nod, "_Ruth and Harry_."

Tariq and Dimitri exchanged a glance.

"Uh, honestly, mate, I have no idea." Dimitri told the new officer.

"Wouldn't want to ask." Tariq seconded. "Harry would probably kill us."

Calum looked over towards the pod doors, still clutching the two extra cups of tea.

"Well there you go," he said, almost to himself. "You learn something new every day, on this job. Well done, Harry..." He frowned. "...Shame we're missing the fireworks, though."

The three young spooks sat down at Ruth's abandoned desk, drank their tea and ate their biscuits. They chinked mugs at New Year and discussed ridiculous New Years' resolutions that they never would never keep. None of them was particularly interested in following their boss or their analyst colleague up to the roof, to watch the fireworks. There were limits, on how many new things they wanted to learn. Harry, interrupted in his pursuit of Ruth, was not one of them.

...


	2. Chapter 2

.

Up on the roof, the wind was blowing with icy ferocity. Despite being wrapped up in a scarf, several jumpers and a thick woollen coat, Ruth shivered as she stepped out into it. Harry followed her, closing the door quietly behind them. The walk to their destination had been more than slightly awkward. They had barely said two words to each other after they had left the pods and made their way up the stairs. Ruth had broken their silence only when she needed help with the door. As they stepped out into the night, however, all the awkwardness seemed to fade away, on the wind.

The sky was beautiful and astoundingly clear, for London in midwinter. The usual haze of orange street light hung in the air, but Ruth could see the stars quite clearly beyond it. Pushing her hands deeper inside her pockets, she moved further out onto the roof. Harry followed her. Ruth did not realise how close he was until he spoke quietly, just behind her left shoulder.

"Good night for it." His voice was soft and beautifully smooth.

"It's so clear," Ruth craned her neck back, admiring the stars once more.

Harry seemed more interested in watching her than the stars.

"How long do we have, until the fireworks?" she asked him, without turning.

"Five minutes." He reached out and Ruth jumped a little, as his hand touched her back, directing her attention towards the Thames-facing side of the building. "You'll see better from over there."

They walked together to the edge and Ruth leant forwards, against the railing. Harry stood beside her, not leaning. His hands were in his pockets, his face pensive.

"I have to ask, Ruth, why now?" he looked over to her, his gaze soft.

"Now?" Ruth blustered, refusing to fully meet his gaze. She knew fine well what he meant, but she needed to buy time, to sort out the mess of thoughts in her head.

"Why do you want to talk now? We've had time, before. Plenty of it."

Ruth swallowed.

"I know. Tonight felt..." she sighed, heavily. Was there really any good explanation for why she wanted to talk tonight? No, not really. She had had an epiphany, watching him across the Grid. She had just suddenly known. At a loss for how to sell an epiphany to Harry, she settled on. "I just realised how tired I was, off all of this."

Harry frowned.

"Of us?"

It was Ruth's turn to frown.

Harry saying 'Us' sounded strange. She had never really considered there being an 'us', with the two of them. 'Us' implied that there had been some mutual agreement, like they had chosen to be bound together, like they were.

Ruth did not think they had chosen, not really. Their relationship had spawned in the mix of emotion and adrenaline of the Grid. Sure enough, Ruth had chosen to go to take things further. She had said 'yes' to dinner with him. They had made that step by choice but, afterwards, things had seemed to carry on rather without their permission. They were parted, by events, then pulled back together by different ones. They were forced, again and again, to choose the good of other people over each other. Though they had tried to keep themselves separate, fate or destiny or the sadistic nature of the world would not let them forget the bond formed between them. And, possibly because of the constant reminders, the bond between them only grew stronger with time.

There was an 'us' – though maybe not an 'us' in the way that Harry had meant it. They were tied together by what they had shared. Maybe it had not been through choice, but they were irrevocably Ruth _and_ Harry, now. And Ruth didn't think they could stop being that, even if they had a hundred years to do try.

So "yes," she sighed, not quite able to look him in the eye. "This is about us."

"If this you, drawing a line in the sand?" Harry asked her.

Ruth's head whipped around, eyes fixing on Harry's, with an indignant glare. "This is me trying to fix us, Harry!"

His face did not change. If her admission had surprised him, then he hid it well below the surface.

Exhaling heavily, Ruth turned back towards the railing, cursing the fact that she had had to fall in love with a spy.

"Damn it, Harry," she shook her head, staring out over the sparkling city. "Were we ever not broken? Is there even any _point_ in trying to fix this?"

Harry turned and leant against the railing, beside her. He looked torn, by her question. Ruth knew she should probably look away, to give him time to think, but she could not bring herself to remove her gaze from his face. Her eyes were rooted on the rise of his cheekbone, sharp in the darkness, and the shadow falling to the edge of his lips. His jaw was slightly tightened, holding all his emotion back, as always. So very Harry.

Ruth sighed. She wanted to reach out and end this conversation, kiss him and forget about everything else. She wanted this painful rendition of inner thoughts to be over but, she also knew, that could not happen. It would not solve anything. They needed to thrash this out. They needed to talk.

"Adam told me something, once." Harry spoke, eventually. The creases across his forehead deepened into a frown. "We were having a drink in my office, after an operation. He'd had a few glasses and he told me something that Ros had said to him." Harry shook his head. "I don't think he meant to tell me, it just slipped out..."

Ruth held her quiet. Though she and Ros might not have always got on, she did miss the sarcastic spook. She knew that Harry missed her infinitely more. When Adam had died – with Ruth gone and Jo on the brink of self-destruction – it had been the two of them against the world. Ros had been his second in command, his confidant and his back-up. They had grown closer than anyone would have guessed, knowing the pair of them individually. After her death, Harry rarely spoke of her. Ruth suspected it was too painful.

He faltered for a good half a minute, before continuing.

"Ros told him that they were broken," Harry eventually continued, "and that they never had enough time, to fix themselves."

"Time can be difficult to come by, when you're busy saving the country." Ruth told him, choosing not to comment on the similarity between what Ros had said and what she had told Harry. It had thrown her a little off-balance.

"I think that Adam believed, if he had a little more time, he could have fixed them."

A siren wailed and a police car passed, on the street below, cutting the conversation short, for a moment. The police car stopped and two officers stepped out, trotting up the front steps of Thames House and disappearing inside. Harry hand reflexively moved to his coat pocket, where Ruth knew his phone was stowed. Apparently the policemen were some other section's problem, however. His phone did not vibrate or ring. After a moment or so, Harry leant back against the railing and heaved a heavy sigh.

"And do you think Adam was right?" Ruth asked him. "Do you think people like us can be fixed?"

He did not reply immediately.

"Come on, Harry, you were angling to make a point, just there." Ruth gave a wry smile. "I know you, I can tell."

He gave a tiny smile. "Okay." Turning, he squinted at her, against the wind. "My point is, we're not Ros and Adam." His eyes were glittering with reflections of the city lights. Ruth found herself sinking into them.

"We _are_ broken, Harry." She told him, voice unintentionally sorrowful.

"But we can make time."

Harry's hand slipped a little closer across the railing, stopping just short of hers. Ruth swallowed.

"I know we live..." he paused, searching for an appropriate word, "busy lives." Ruth gave a half-laugh of agreement. "And I understand what Ros meant by not having time, to forge something meaningful with another person," Harry continued, "but I think this is one of those mythical situations in which age gives me an advantage." He tilted his head to catch Ruth's eye. She moved to meet him, hooked as ever. "We can make time. We can prioritise. And yes, in response to your question, I think we were once 'not broken'."

"And when was that?" Ruth asked, breathlessly. She wanted to believe him.

"Well," Harry looked about them, around the rooftop. "I was standing over there," he pointed to the other side of the railing, "and you were standing beside me and I was making a really terrible job of asking you to dinner."

Warmth welled up, within Ruth's chest.

"It wasn't terrible," she laughed softly, looking down to hide the sudden pinking of her cheeks, "and it wouldn't have mattered, even if it was. I would still have said yes."

"Well you could have told me that, at the time. I was really quite nervous, over the whole thing."

Ruth looked up again, meeting his eyes, and felt herself melt a little. His eyes were gentle and so full of love.

How many times in your life did you get an opportunity like this, she asked herself. How many times did a person find themselves standing, with the man who loved them enough to lay down his life for them, alone on a rooftop, at midnight on New Years' Eve? There would never be another moment like this, between them. Enough moments had been missed in the past for her to know that. So, balling her hands into fists inside her pockets and praying for courage, she told him what she wanted to tell him.

"I love you."

It came out as an almost-whisper, barely sounding over the wind that rushed between them.

Harry swallowed audibly, but did not say anything. He remained still, watching her.

"And I know that's not enough, Harry," Ruth pushed herself to continue. "I'm not pretending that saying it aloud makes the problems between us instantly disappear, I'm not naive."

His mouth twitched, but he did not say anything, or move towards her.

"I wanted to talk to you tonight because I wanted to apologise." Ruth forced herself to continue, despite the rising panic. "I was so angry, before. Angry at you, at myself..."

"Yourself?"

"I always forgive you." Ruth explained. "It is not something I chose to do – it is something I have no power over, actually. God knows, I've tried hard enough to stop." She paused, looking out across the city to avoid his piercing gaze. "Anyway, I was furious at myself for it, because I did not want to forgive you. I could not see a future for us, because I was so angry, and it was easier to blame how I was feeling on you..." Ruth pulled her eyes away from the skyline and took a shaky breath.

Harry watched her, his eyes dark, under the midnight sky.

"I did not mean to make this harder than it had to be." She whispered. Her voice had become a little shaky, tears threatening to spring from her eyes. "I know we should have talked, long before now. I should have told you that I'm so glad that you didn't lose your job and that I am so grateful, for what you did." One of the tears fell, hot, against her cold cheek. Ruth swallowed back the harsh breaths that came with it. "I am, you know. And I am so sorry for what I said, before you went off to meet Lucas. I didn't mean it, not really."

Harry shifted. The wind howled through the gap between them.

"Ruth..." he looked down, away, back up again. She had never seen him look so unsure. "Ruth, you have nothing to apologise for."

"I feel like I do."

"Ruth-,"

"Please, Harry, just... just accept what I'm saying." She reached out one hand, from the warmth of her pocket, and curled it into the arm of his jacket. She could feel the hardness of him, beneath the soft of the fabric. Her fingers shook. "I'm just so tired. I don't want to be angry anymore and I don't want you to hate me."

Stepping forwards, Harry slipped his arm around her. His movements were quick. Ruth could not have moved away even if she had wanted to. She did not want to, however. She did not struggle, or protest, or put up a fight. She just turned her head so that he could draw her closer. Forehead brushing the underside of his jaw, she slowly – painstakingly slowly – let Harry pull her close to his chest. His gloved hand found the small of her back and flattened across it, fingertips pressing into her, through her coat, steadying her.

"Ruth," He whispered her name against her head. "I don't think I could ever hate you."

His breath was warm against her skin, but quickly lost in the cold air. Ruth pressed herself closer. His hand locked them together, bodies as flush as they could be, through the layers of winter clothing. She stumbled a little, nudging her head into him, gripping his jacket with her bare hands, her skin stinging slightly, from the cold. The wind, which had blow between the gaps between them, was now forced to flow around them, instead. Ruth thought it a beautiful metaphor, of some kind – what kind, she was not entirely sure of, yet. Perhaps, it would come to her, if they stood here long enough. She was okay with that. She did not want to let go.

"I'm sorry," She whispered again, pressing her face into his shoulder.

He did not reply, just shook his head and hushed her softly, pressing a kiss into her hair.

They stood together a little while longer. Ruth's hands slid up against his sides and Harry moved her closer, lifting one arm to protect her from the wind. As his hand found the back of her head, brushing through her hair, the sound of Big Ben chiming filled the distant night air.

Both of them startled a little and looked around. The static noise, which filled the London air at night, had crescendo significantly. In time to the ringing of the bells, there came a series of screaming whines, then the explosions of fireworks – bursting out like fiery ribbons, into the sky. The colour of the pyrotechnic display was ten times more vivid than Ruth could remember. She tilted her head against Harry's chest, lifting her cheek off of him so that she watch it better.

Red and white streamers snaked through the sky. Great bursts of silver and gold made iridescent globes, before falling, like confetti to the ground. There would be a bang, then a flash and sparkle, and then the crack of more being let off. There were wild, spinning ones which cart wheeled through the air and others, which spread out like the branches of a weeping willow, trailing down towards the rooftops. Ruth's personal favourite was one which formed circles in the sky, like luminescent smoke rings. They faded more slowly than the others, into the black night.

They stood, quite still, watching colour explode into the sky. The display lasted about five minutes, then the popping and cracking vanished into wisps of smoke and all they could hear was the distant 'thump' of the street parties and the voices of the revellers' cheers.

Ruth sighed. Her companion's fingers traced slow circles on her back. His arm was still looped around her, protectively. She was acutely aware that this was the moment that she would normally pull away, make some excuse and dry her tears, before running off. Surprisingly enough, now that she had resolved herself to facing this problem head-on, it did not take much internal coaxing to stay put. Leaning against Harry felt good. He was warm and solid and made her feel safe. Staying here, wrapped up in his arms, felt like the logical thing to do.

"I missed you," she thought, so she told him. It was strangely liberating, being so open. "You were right, we should make time for this. We should have made time years ago."

He held her a little tighter.

They stood for another minute or so, before he spoke.

"Ruth?"

She lifted her head, feeling a rush of nerves. Was this the part where he changed his mind? She knew it was an illogical progression, from him just saying her name, but she could not help thinking it. Her body was hypersensitive, from the adrenaline. Her thoughts were moving through her head at a million miles a minute. She had stopped shivering, despite still being cold, out of sheer anticipation. Eyes flickering between Harry's gaze and his lips, Ruth waited for him to speak. When he did not, for more than ten seconds, she prompted him.

"Harry, what is it?"

"Is this..." he started and then halted, after only two words, shaking his head.

"What?"

Ruth's fingers dug into the material of his jacket, lest he tried to move away.

"Is this you giving me another chance?" he asked, eventually. His dark and very cautious, his voice quiet, but steady.

Vulnerable was a side to Harry that Ruth rarely saw. He was the most traditional sort of spy; keeping emotion buried deep within and he kept vulnerability hidden, beneath that emotion. Tonight, however, he was not trying to hide it. His eyes were pleading. Ruth knew that, if she asked, he would probably get down on his knees and beg for her. She had imagined making him do that, once or twice, during the past few weeks of anger. But now, seeing that helplessness in his eyes, she just wanted it to go away. There was no gratification to see him hurting for her.

"Harry," she lifted one hand to brush against his cheek. She wasn't entirely sure what to do with it, once it was there, so she just ran her fingers gently across his skin, following the line of one thin scar. There was no particular purpose to her movements. She just wanted to touch him. "Yes." She whispered, leaning in a little. They were not so very far apart. She could kiss him now, if she tilted her head just right.

"I need to know that you mean it."

"I mean it," she reassured him, quietly.

He gave a strange half-sigh and tilted his eyes skyward, staring up at the sky. Overhead, the smoke from the fireworks was drifting, like blackish cloud, towards the horizon.

Ruth's hand fell from his cheek. She leant away.

"I'm so tired, Ruth," He sighed softly. "I don't think I can take this almost-happening, again. I have lost you so many times..." His voice trailed off, replaced by the siren of the police car starting up, beneath them, and trailing off into the night. They stood and watched each other carefully for a few seconds, before Harry spoke again. "I don't think I can do this, if you are going to change your mind in a couple of days, or a week's time." He told her, eventually. His voice was so quiet, so unlike how he usually spoke.

"I am not going to change my mind-," she tried to reassure him, but he interrupted, gently.

"-It's what you do, though. When I get too close, you pull away. It's what you have always done."

"And you don't?" Ruth asked, incredulous. "How many times did I come to you and say I was there, if you needed to talk? How many times did I try to comfort you, only to have you push me away?"

"You were offering friendship, which I could not accept," Harry guided Ruth away from him, looking down into her face. "It was too painful to be close to you, with those limitations. I wanted more."

"More?" she asked him.

Harry had leant forwards. Their faces were thrillingly close.

"I have always wanted more. I wanted everything, I _want_ everything." He rephrased, lifting one hand to cup her face. His palm was warm, even through the leather. Thumb lying against her cheekbone, he gripped her skin gently. "I want this, Ruth. I want us, together. I want you in my life and in my home, and in my bed,"

Ruth felt her cheeks flush red.

Harry did not look even the slightest bit embarrassed.

"I want to be close to somebody again, to feel something other than cold, when I'm not filled with adrenaline. I want to kiss you and for it not to mean goodbye. And I want to walk onto the grid together, in the morning, so that everybody in there will know that you are mine."

"That's a tad presumptuous of you," she managed to whisper, through her ever-tightening throat.

Harry's eyes softened slightly as he smiled.

"I suppose it is a little – you are an independent woman, after all – but I thought you might allow me that small indulgence." The smile faded as he leant closer, almost brushing his lips against hers, before turning his head and whispering his next words against her hair. "I am sick of the pretence, Ruth, just like you are sick of the anger. What we are in there," he glanced down at Thames House, below them, "that is the lie. This is what is real." He stroked one finger along her cheek. "You are beautiful and I love you. And I am sick of pretending not to."

If she had been feeling any more argumentative, Ruth would have pointed out that he did pretend very hard not to love her, but she was not feeling argumentative. She was feeling dizzy and slightly nauseous while, at the same time, alive with anticipation. Every hair on her body was standing on end. She was fairly sure that her pupils would be as dilated as Harry's were – and his were incredibly dilated. She had never seen them so dark before. And all for her. He was consumed by want, for _her_.

The moment felt unreal. She and Harry were clasped together on a rooftop. He was holding her. After everything that had happened, they were finally having a frank conversation, all about them. She had told him she loved him and he had said it back. Ruth licked her lower lip absently. They had both wanted to make this work. So, what did she do now? How did she convince him that she was serious? A kiss was too trite, it felt like distraction. She could bury herself back in his arms, of course. That would feel good, but Ruth was almost sure that Harry wanted her to say something. The problem was, his dark, dark eyes were driving all cognisant thought from her mind.

She stood, for a good minute or so, her lips parting and then her vocal chords failing to cooperate. Her companion did not seem too bothered, by the passage of time. He busied himself in stroking her back and fixing the strands of hair that had fallen about her face. Every now and then, his gaze would fall down to capture her own again and Ruth would fall even deeper into mind-numbing want.

"You don't have to pretend." She eventually stumbled out with. They were not quite the right words, but they were not wrong either. And it was Harry. Harry would understand. "I do want this. And I am not going to change my mind. I've given it rather a lot of thought, actually."

"Really?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "I rather got the feeling that us even talking tonight was a spur of the moment thing." It was not quite a rebuke.

Ruth's cheeks flushed slightly pinker.

"Okay, that is true." She admitted. "But what I said still stands. We've been dancing around this long enough to know what it will entail. I have no illusions that this will be easy."

"It'll be harder than you think."

"We do 'hard' almost every day, in here."

"Yes, but have you thought about the pragmatics of the situation, Ruth?" Harry asked her. "We will have to see each other, ever day, not just when you feel like it. We will not ever have the luxury of avoiding one another, when things go wrong."

"I think we have plenty experience of working under hostile conditions." Ruth told him. "We always got the job done." _Even when we felt like strangling one another_, she thought.

"And how would you cope with being talked about?" Harry tilted his head, catching her eye. "Because, I assure you, Ruth, there will be talk. Plenty of it."

Ruth felt compelled to point out, at this point, that she had objected to being talked about nearly five years ago, now.

"I am not the same woman I was then," she continued. "You're not the same man. We have history and issues but who doesn't. The more I've seen of this world, the more I understand that their talk is a small price to pay, for us both to be a little less lonely. I know what I'm asking for, Harry." She fixed him with the most solid gaze she could summon. "I want you. That's all."

He stared at her for a very long time.

"Okay." He said eventually, pulling back from her and placing his hands firmly inside his pockets.

Ruth felt slightly disappointed, to be denied contact, after such a speech, but she saw the wisdom in his actions. She had almost fallen into him several times over the past few minutes. If they were going to make a serious decision, on their future together, then they should probably be thinking about pragmatics and not on how each others' lips might taste – however pleasant that thought might be.

"If you want me," Harry told her, calmly, "then you have to take everything. I am not half as good at compartmentalising as people think."

"That I know," she told him, and was rewarded with a small smile.

"We work well together, I can't have that change. On the Grid, you are my employee. You have to respect my authority in the field and always obey the chain of command."

Ruth forced herself not to smirk as she put her own hands in her pockets. As they stood facing each other, Harry's speech sounded ever so much like a briefing.

"Yes sir," she joked, softly.

"I'm serious, Ruth. We come through those doors and we have to put the work first, always," he warned her, his smile fading to be replaced by a worried expression, as if he thought she might bring up Albany.

Ruth wouldn't. She just wouldn't. Albany had been a product of circumstance. At first, she had torn herself up over those circumstances; lying awake at night, wondering what Harry would have done if the technology had been real. Now, she knew. There was no way he would have handed it over, not with thousands of lives at stake. He was Harry Pearce, one still point in her rapidly turning world. He would do what was right, every time. It was why she had fallen in love with him.

"I know, Harry," she reassured him, softly. "Work is work."

"And you won't get special treatment."

"Bugger." She rolled her eyes. "You've seen through my cunning ruse. This was all just a very long game, to get a pay rise."

Harry gave a tiny laugh.

"If we find our relationship changes things," he nodded, almost to himself, "then one of us has to move to a different department."

"The Home Secretary's been trying to poach me ever since you fed them that report, during your tribunal." Ruth admitted. "I have plenty of places to go, when you have to fire me."

Harry looked vaguely uneasy.

"We'll cross that bridge when, and if, we come to it."

"We won't come to it." She assured him, gently. "It was a joke, Harry."

He smiled again and a moment passed in comfortable silence. Ruth breathed in the cold air, marvelling at how, for once, everything tonight had gone so incredibly right. So many conversations between them had faltered and failed, or turned down alleys too dark for them to continue. Tonight, they had had an open, honest discussion, like two adults. Perhaps that was it, Ruth thought, with a smile. Perhaps, at forty-two years old, she had finally grown up.

Casting her eyes over to Harry, she noticed that he was shifting his feet slightly, hands still tucked into his pockets. It was a stance she recognised, another of his little nervous tics, which she had learnt off by over the years. This one told her that he was about to say something he was not entirely comfortable with. Interest piqued, she focussed her attention back in on him. Sure enough, he spoke within ten seconds.

"Ruth?"

"Yes?" she asked a little too quickly, eager to find out what had been plaguing his thoughts so.

"How fast do we move, with this?" he asked, quietly.

Ruth swallowed, hard. Suddenly, the playful sureness of the last few minutes was gone and she felt crippling uncertainty gnawing at the back of her mind. This was where the conversation was leading. They had set out terms for their work relationship, now they had to discuss their personal relationship. As this was an adult conversation, that was definitely going to involve talking about sex. Ruth bit the inside of her lip, in what she hoped was a subtle manner. Adult or not, she wasn't even sure she could talk about that with Harry. It felt strange, after so long blatantly ignoring the sexual tension that always brewed between them.

"I, uh," she cleared her throat and frowned. "You mean...?"

"Can I kiss you now, for instance, without you running away?" he asked, gently.

Her body was screaming 'yes', her brain was less sure.

This had all come upon her rather suddenly. Just an hour ago, she was just settling down to a game of New Years' Eve Scrabble with Tariq, Calum and Dimitri. Now, she was standing on a roof, discussing – with a man she had only just started talking to again – how quickly they could start acting like a normal couple and not the socially retarded, broken spooks that they were. And all because of a silly flirtation, with a five letter word!

By all the gods, Ruth wanted to kiss him. She was even almost sure she would not freak out, afterwards. But she needed to say something first.

"I need time," she blurted out, wincing at the disappointment on his face. "Not the kiss. I'd quite like the kiss, I mean..." she swore quietly, looking away as her cheeks went from pink to scarlet. This is even more embarrassing than she had imagined. Not that she had really imagined this. In all of her sordid Harry-related fantasies, she had been only too eager to get into his bed. "The whole sex thing."

And apparently, she could say sex on front of him now. Great.

Her cheeks went redder.

Harry, much to her annoyance, looked slightly amused. Ruth glared at him.

"I need time to adjust to the idea of this," she blurted, hoping it did not sound as ridiculous as it sounded in her head. After all, they had known each other for nearly nine years. Surely, they had had enough time. Every time she had imagined this, she had not needed time. Yet, the reality was a thousand times more confusing. "It's all a bit..."

"Sudden." He finished, for her, with a small nod. His eyes were gentle.

Ruth felt rush of gratitude and relief.

"Yes, sudden." She bit at her lip again. "I honestly don't think I can handle it, right now, after everything. I don't know about you but I have ten thousand different emotions rushing through me right now and I need some time to calm down a little, before" before letting you make me entirely un-calm again, Ruth finished, inside her head. "Before anything else." She finished, out loud.

Harry gave her another tiny nod.

"Ten thousand emotions." He echoed.

Ruth got the feeling she was being, albeit very gently, teased.

"Yes."

"Most people would have said a million."

"A million seemed a little exaggerative." Ruth explained, knowing that she shouldn't, that he was just teasing. She couldn't help herself, though. He was watching her in that way only Harry watched her and she was squirming under his gaze. Talking gave her something to do apart from think of what his skin would feel like against hers. "I'm not a biologist, obviously, but I don't think the human brain can have a million thoughts happening, at one time. Not conscious thoughts." She continued to ramble. "I thought ten thousand was probably a more appropriate estimate."

"I see." His lips twitched upwards.

"So I said ten thousand," she finished, breathlessly.

"Ruth, may I kiss you?"

"I, um," Ruth swallowed and tried to appear in control of herself.

She was in no way in control of herself. Her heart was thundering in her chest. Her ribs felt like they might break, under the pressure. Her body felt alive in ways that nobody had made her feel alive in, in years. It had been years, she realised, with a sinking feeling, years since she had kissed another human being. Two years, in fact, and even longer since she had let a man fold himself inside of her.

After George, there had only been one, who meant nothing, knew nothing about her, and reaffirmed everything Ruth had assumed about one-night stands. They were not for her. The whole thing had been hard and fast and completely fulfilling – and it had had left her feeling emptier than she had ever felt before. Since then, her sex life had been a sad, sorry, solo affair that she really did not want to think about, much less explain to Harry. Mostly because it involved him, indirectly.

He probably knew that, of course.

Did he think of her?

Ruth cringed inwardly.

"I don't," she began again, then her voice faltered away. "Oh God..." she whispered, to herself.

It had been such a long time.

"I won't lie and say it's all I want, Ruth," Harry said gently, stepping closer, "but it's all I want, right now."

She shivered, her chin lifting as he approached, so that she could hold his gaze.

"Okay, then." Her voice was small, almost trembling. She reached out one hand and laying it against his arm as he approached.

He let her guide him to her.

Their limbs found one another, without too much hesitance. Her hands slipped against him, one of his game to rest gently on her hip, pulling her body forwards into him. Dipping his head down, Harry gave her a moment to adjust to their new proximity. His eyes draw elaborate patterns across her face, following the rise and fall of her cheek, dipping into the shadow of her lips and back up again, along the line of her nose to her eyes. Ruth only hoped that, under his scrutiny, she did not look as terrified as she felt.

There was huge difference between wanting something and feeling brave about doing it, and Ruth was utterly failing at the latter. Her shoulders were tense, arms shaking against his stronger body. Her breathing was fast, two breaths for every one of his. She wanted this, she wanted it desperately and had done for more than six years. She had been wanting to kiss Harry for more than half a decade and now, finally, she could.

"How can you be so calm, after all this time?" she asked him, quietly.

"Calm?"

She slipped her hand over his chest, pressing against the solidness of him.

"I'm shaking," she whispered, quietly. "You're so steady."

Harry regarded her with an expression that was not entirely gentlemanly.

"The only reason I'm not shaking," he lifted one gloveless hand, placing it gently against Ruth's cheek, "is that I have imagined you, quivering to meet my touch, every night, for the last five years."

Ruth gave a noise which more closely approximated a whimper than anything else.

Harry leant closer.

"I know every breath of how I will kiss you." His nose brushed against hers, his lips close enough to taste his breath. He tasted sweet, of whiskey and something else, which Ruth could not place. Chocolate? Mint? "I know exactly where I will touch you." He ran his fingers down her neck. Ruth closed her eyes, swallowing back harsh breaths. "And I know, when you are ready, exactly what I will whisper to you as I make you mine."

There were no words, nothing she could say or do which would slow the racing of her heart and she did not much care to. His chest and belly were pressed against hers. His hand held her waist, tight. Her quivering fingers dug into his coat, holding onto him as tightly as she could. Her body was burning, skin tight and hot and alive with the implication of his words and the anticipation of his touch.

His fingers danced across her jaw, gently nudging her up towards him.

"I am not shaking because I want this more than anything." He rested his cheek momentarily against hers, brushing a chaste kiss against the corner of her mouth. "And love can make a man brave."

There was nothing in the world she wanted more and no place that she would rather be. In the split moment that preceded his kiss, Ruth realised that some decisions in life were completely and undeniably black and white. She would be with Harry because being with Harry was infinitely better than being alone. Damn the rest of it.

He whispered his love and kissed her cheek.

She whispered his name. It was all she managed to say, before he lowered his mouth to hers and she lost herself in the feel of him.

.


	3. Chapter 3

.

"So," Erin sat down heavily next to Tariq and Calum. "How was last night?"

The pair of them had been up all night and were eager for the rest of the day shift to arrive so that they could return home. Erin, as usual, had been the first to arrive on the Grid, fronting up as the sun rose along the horizon. As per usual, she was perfectly coiffed – something that Dimitri had grumpily noted to the other two, before slouching off to make tea, leaving them to greet their well-rested and annoyingly chipper Section chief.

"Anything exciting happen?" she asked, setting her briefcase down on top of the desktop.

Tariq yawned widely.

"Not a thing. Chatter has been nonexistent since three o' clock yesterday. We might as well have gone home with the rest of you."

Erin reached over him and scanned the bulletins. Sure enough, only low-priority threats were listed.

"At least it was a quiet night in. Did you see the fireworks?" she asked Calum.

Just as he was about to answer, Dimitri appeared at his side, carrying a steaming mug. He threw Calum a sideways look and, infinitesimally, shook his head. Calum's forehead lined in response.

"Uh, no, we didn't get a chance." Tariq answered for Calum, giving Erin a tight smile.

"I thought you weren't busy." She frowned.

"_We_ weren't." Calum smirked, stressing the 'we' a little too obviously for Erin to miss.

The Section Chief raised an eyebrow.

Tariq and Dimitri shot their colleague a warning look.

"We were all playing Scrabble." Dimitri explained.

"Scrabble?"

The three male officers nodded.

"Right..." Erin looked between them, individually, then, clearly realising she was not going to get anywhere with the conversation, she stood and headed over towards her station. "Well, I'll see you later. I think we have a few protocols we need to submit reports for, to legal. They're having a field day over the car incident last week."

"It was an accident," Calum insisted, watching her go.

Dimitri sat in her vacated chair and the three young officers all remained silent until Erin Watts had reached her station and sat down at it, turning on her computer. Once her attention was fully focussed on the screen, they all turned back in on themselves. Calum frowned at the other two.

"Why aren't we telling her about Ruth and Harry?" he asked, with mild confusion.

"Come on, think about it logically, Cal," Tariq scooted forwards on his seat. "Erin is Ruth's boss, right, and Harry is Erin's boss... how awkward is that going to be? Besides, as Section Chief, she has the duty to report any staff action, which she terms as illicit, to the DG. It's just a lot to put on her shoulders. Best we keep it to ourselves for now, just until Harry and Ruth want to bring it up themselves."

Dimitri nodded in agreement.

"Plausible deniability." He added. "Erin has no idea what's going on between them, anyway. Let's just try not complicate matters."

"I suppose what she doesn't know won't hurt her," Calum reasoned.

The three men all nodded and agreed that it was the best option. After all, Ruth and Harry was a tricky business. The best thing they could do was deny all knowledge and extricate themselves from the situation as quickly as possible. When and if Erin found out, they would not be involved.

Tariq went back to debugging his computer program. Calum began to scroll through the screeds of low-priority chatter, stopping every now and then to comment on the un-likeliness of anyone targeting the Food and Agriculture minister over his possible involvement with Iranian terrorists – much less targeting him with a tactical nuclear weapon which, from the details in the threat, was not likely to exist until at least 2050. Dimitri sat at his desk, laughing along with Calum and sipping his tea, while they waited for the day shift to arrive.

.

From her desk, Erin watched the trio with slightly narrowed eyes. Whatever they were up to did not seem to be an imminent threat, but she would keep her eyes open. She knew Calum was a mischievous little bugger when he wanted to be and she was now, technically, the new girl on the Grid floor. She would have to watch her back, without Harry's office to protect her. She had heard Tariq talking about practical joke wars just yesterday, by the coffee machine. It all sounded rather messy.

With a sigh, she turned her attention back to her computer, logging in and checking her in-tray. There was nothing much. A few tasks left undone from the previous day, a couple of emails from the Home Secretary, CC'd to her for posterity. It was all very uninteresting and relatively un-urgent. Sitting back in her chair, Erin was just debating whether to pull herself out of her early-morning torpor and make some tea, when the pod doors swished and Harry and Ruth appeared, seemingly deep in conversation.

Both looked up as they entered, catching her eye. Both smiled.

Erin smiled back, to cover her surprise.

She had not seen the pair of them talking since they had returned. Whatever their lovers' tiff had been about, however, it now seemed to be over. Ruth touched Harry's arm lightly as she reached over to pick something up off her desk, Harry caught her eye one too many times as he read the report she had handed him. As they parted, Harry for his office and Ruth for Tariq's technical lair, she noticed their hands brush against each other.

Thank god, Erin thought, turning her attention back to her emails and beginning to compose a reply to the Home Secretary.

Whatever the argument had been and however they had overcome it, the Section Chief was glad. Having her boss and her cleverest analyst moping around, like sick puppies, had hardly been the most productive work environment. As Ruth trotted over to Tariq and started quizzing him on gait-analysis software, Erin noted that she had a little more bounce in her step. Looking around, she saw that Harry – despite the fact that he was muttering darkly towards his paperwork – looked a little more cheerful.

Leaning back in her seat, Erin debated whether to let Tariq, Calum and Dimtiri know there was something going on, with Ruth and Harry. In the end, she decided against it. They would probably prefer to tell the team, in their own time. As long as it did not affect her work, Erin was happy to leave them their privacy. After all, she reasoned, what the rest of the team did not know could not hurt them. And when they did find out, Erin would just claim blatant ignorance. Yes, best not to get involved.

With a smile, she went back to her emails. What a promising start it had been, to the year.


End file.
